


Down a Lazy River

by dashakay



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-20
Updated: 2009-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:17:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashakay/pseuds/dashakay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Irish wake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down a Lazy River

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Pequod for beta reading.
> 
> Spoilers for Deadalive.

An Irish wake requires an Irish bar. Doggett knows of a place called Flanagan's that's a couple of blocks from his house, so they go straight there from the airport.

At a table in the back, where SportsCenter doesn't blare quite as loudly as in the rest of the bar, they sit at a scarred wood table and drink pints of Guinness. Neither man says much. There's no need to or maybe it's that it would seem cheap at a time like this. Instead, they drink their beers in careful swallows and stare at the Knicks game flickering on the corner TV.

"Mulder liked the Knicks," Skinner says. He signals the bartender for another round. Is it their third or fourth? He can't remember. He's exhausted, hasn't slept in days and days, has been living on coffee and the odd adrenaline of shock.

"Oh yeah?" says Doggett.

Doggett never met Mulder, Skinner thinks. Deep down inside, Skinner had always imagined Mulder coming back, feisty and full of outlandish plans, and getting right to the business of pissing Doggett off. He would have liked to have seen that, seen those two square off.

"Yeah. Once I was up in New York on a case with Scully and Mulder and we went to a Knicks game."

They'd never been friends, exactly, but that night the three of them went to the Garden. Not exactly friends, but what? Comrades? Fellow travelers? They watched the game, ate hot dogs, and drank too much expensive, watery arena beer. For the first, and probably the last, time Skinner saw Scully get a little drunk. Her cheeks turned pink and she'd actually giggled from time to time. Skinner hadn't even known that she knew how to giggle.

He's haunted by Scully's eyes at the cemetery, deep-set and bloodshot. There's not enough beer in this bar to let him forget the way she clung to him as Mulder's coffin was lowered into the earth. That memory will keep him awake nights for a long time.

"I wish I'd known him," Doggett says. "I always heard so many wild stories about him, but I'll never know him as a person."

"Yeah, I do too. Mulder was something else. You probably would have hated him, but in a good sort of way."

"I wish I knew what to say to Scully."

Skinner sighs and drinks his beer. He doesn't know either. There aren't words to comfort a woman who has lost her everything. Scully will survive, will find happiness in work and raising her child, but... Skinner can't imagine Scully without Mulder. It's an incomplete equation.

Doggett gets a strange look on his face but doesn't say anything.

"What is it?"

"They were...together, weren't they? The kid is Mulder's, right?" Doggett asks in his blunt New York manner.

It's not Skinner's secret to tell but what the hell difference does it make now? "Yes," he says. "I don't know about the baby but they were together."

Neither of them ever came right out and said anything to Skinner but he's not stupid. He notices things. He saw Mulder and Scully almost every day and could tell, about a year or so ago, that things had changed between them. That unspoken tension between them had disappeared. On more than one occasion, Skinner had gone over to Mulder's apartment on business at odd hours and found Scully there for no good reason at all.

They'd never acted ashamed or embarrassed about it. Instead, Mulder and Scully had seemed to throw a silent challenge at Skinner-- this is how it is, so deal with it.

Skinner had dealt with it. It hadn't been much of a surprise, anyhow. He'd been expecting it for a long time.

On a related note, Skinner wonders if Scully knows about him and Doggett. Can she tell? Does it show? Right now he'd be surprised if she even cared. She's got her own shit to deal with.

"I thought so," Doggett says, swirling the Guinness around and around in his glass.

"Why?" Skinner's getting a little drunk now, just enough that his thoughts are turning slow and slushy. Say what you want about alcohol, it does take the edge off.

"I don't know. I guess the look on her face whenever his name came up. And once, right after I met her for the first time, I found her at his place. She'd been sleeping in his bed. Not many partners take naps in each others' beds."

Skinner doesn't want to hear that. He really, really doesn't need to hear that. That's the kind of thing that makes him sure his heart is going to fucking break. He's got to be strong now, for Scully, and the image of her keeping vigil at Mulder's place just might make him break down.

He's come so close in the last few days. Only the strongest self-discipline has kept Skinner in line.

Their pint glasses are empty again. "You want another round?" Doggett asks.

Skinner shakes his head. One more beer and he _will_ end up the messy puddle of tears he's fought so hard not to become.

Maybe later, he tells himself, but not in front of Doggett.

"Yeah, we should leave. It's getting late." Doggett pushes his chair back and goes to pay the tab. Skinner watches the tall figure walking between the crowded tables and wonders why he doesn't feel ashamed about what's going on. He should feel like less of a man, fucking another man, but he doesn't. All those years of his life when it was drilled into his head that it was wrong, sick, immoral, and sissy to fuck a man-- well, fuck that.

If anything, Doggett makes him feel like more of a man that all the women in his past. He makes Skinner feel alive.

And that, more than anything, is what he needs tonight.

They step outside into the rainy night. After the smoke and grease of Flanagan's it smells clean, good.

Doggett gives him a half-smile. "You feel like coming over?"

Skinner simply nods. Of course he does. Being alone tonight isn't an option. His cock twitches at the thought.

Inside Doggett's house they don't switch on the lights, don't turn on the TV, don't sit down to shoot the shit and watch sports. They head straight for the bedroom. They know what they need. Any preliminaries are unnecessary at this point.

It's been almost a week since they were last together and Skinner is hard as granite, even before Doggett unzips his pants, before they kiss. Hell, he was hard two blocks away.

It's been too long. Skinner can't explain why he can't get enough of John Doggett. He just can't.

They fall on the unmade bed and Skinner runs his hands down the hard, muscled planes of Doggett's nude body. How different a man feels, hotter and hairier. He loves the blunt sensation of man against man.

Funny how you learn something new every day, isn't it?

Doggett moves down Skinner's body to suck his nipples and Skinner has to work hard to keep control. He never knew how electric this could feel. Skinner breathes in the warm scent of Doggett's body.

They never say much in bed. Perhaps they're afraid to break the spell and admit what they're really doing. But as Doggett wraps his callused hand around Skinner's cock, Skinner wants to tell him how good it feels, how much he wants him right now, how right this is.

He doesn't, though.

He just shuts his eyes and suppresses a groan as Doggett takes his cock into his mouth. The Seinfeld episode was right, though, that a man really does know how to please another man since he's got the same equipment. Skinner lets his fingers twine in Doggett's coarse hair and works hard to keep from coming, to keep from thinking too muchabout how good it feels to have Doggett's lips and tongue on his cock, his fingers stroking his balls. He won't think.

"Yes," Skinner gasps. "Yes."

When Skinner comes, he feels like he's back in his body for the first time in days. He's no longer the shambling husk of a man beaten down by his mourning. He feels like nothing bad can ever happen again.

Doggett crawls back up the bed to Skinner and kisses him, hard. It's a different kind of kiss than a woman's kiss, somehow more demanding. Doggett tastes of stout, come, and something raw and exciting. Skinner finds Doggett's thick, hard cock and squeezes it, hearing Doggett's gasp in response. He hears himself say, "Fuck me, John."

Funny, he can't remember ever calling Doggett by his first name before but right now it fits.

Skinner needs to be fucked, to be penetrated, immolated, to forget everything about this long day, this long week. It's the only thing that will temporarily erase the specter of Scully's haunted eyes, the thought of Mulder all alone in a cold North Carolina grave.

Not one to waste time, Doggett gets the condoms and lube out of the bedside table drawer. They've only done this once before and to be perfectly frank, it was rushed and kind of hurt Skinner. Still, he wants it.

Doggett grabs a couple of pillows from the other side of the bed and puts them under Skinner's ass, like he's been doing this sort of thing all his life. Skinner knows for a fact that he has not. "I want to see your face this time," Doggett growls.

For some reason, this makes Skinner's face feel hot.

Skinner's cock, which was completely out of commission just a minute ago, begins to stir as Doggett's slick finger finds his asshole and slowly slides inside.

"More," Skinner whispers through his teeth. He slides his hand up and down Doggett's cock, feeling how it almost pulses at his touch.

Doggett kisses Skinner's neck, his chest, and finally plunges his tongue in Skinner's mouth as he thrusts twofingers deep inside. Skinner finds himself opening, relaxing, readying for Doggett's cock.

"You ready?" Doggett asks. He must want it as badly as Skinner does. Doggett's panting and the rhythmic thrusts of his hips tell him so.

Skinner nods. He's never been readier. He hears the rip of the condom package and the sounds of Doggett putting it on. Doggett straddles him and Skinner lifts his legs, feeling Doggett's cock prodding at his asshole. Again, Skinner is surprised at how natural it feels to be fucked  
by another man. God, to be fucked by John Doggett. Who would have guessed it?

It burns a little as Doggett guides his cock into Skinner, but it's a warm burn he can feel all the way up his spinal column. Doggett is trying to be careful not to hurt him but Skinner wants it all. His hands push Doggett's ass to bring him in deeper, until he can feel Doggett's balls resting on Skinner's ass.

Doggett holds still. "Hang on a second," he grunts.

Skinner feels his own cock filling and rising and almost grins. Not bad for an old guy, huh, he wants to crow.

Slowly, Doggett begins to move in long strokes. If someone had told Skinner when he was young just how good it felt to get fucked, he would have done this a long time ago. He wouldn't have been so ashamed of the occasional fantasy about hot guys he saw in the gym. He certainly wouldn't have felt like less of a man for craving men as well as women.

Skinner guides Doggett with his hands on the other man's ass, feeling his cock getting harder with each thrust. In the dim light of the bedroom, Skinner can see the wild look in Doggett's eye, the palpable need and lust. It's slower than the last time. They're not just fucking. It's not the  
rushed blowjobs and jerking off that's been going on for the last weeks and it's not just a drunken rut. Not this time. They're making love and for some reason it makes Skinner want to cry. He can't remember the last time he's made love, given himself totally to it. It feels so real, so right to have Doggett deep inside him, to kiss him between the strokes, to touch the sweat running down Doggett's back.

"You feel good," Skinner hears himself say.

"Yeah, you too."

Banal words, maybe, but they feel like a revelation to Skinner.

He watches Doggett clamp his eyes shut and feels the muscles in the man's back tense. Doggett comes in a long exhalation of breath, his head buried in Skinner's chest. He drops down onto Skinner's body as if he's just run a marathon. "Jesus," he hears Doggett mumble.

They pull apart and Doggett stumbles off to the bathroom. Skinner turns onto his side, staring off into the darkness, every cell in his body sparkling with pleasure. With just a few strokes of his own hand, Skinner comes again, slower and sweeter this time. He collapses on the pillows, his arms and legs splayed out to either side, trying to catch his breath.

That was, that was... There aren't adequate words.

Doggett comes back to the bed and slides in beside Skinner. This is usually the part where they get up, take showers, and maybe have a beer before someone goes home. They've never spent the night together or indulged in post-coital cuddling. That's not their style.

Tonight, though, Skinner is exhausted. Almost in spite of himself, he finds his eyelids growing heavy and sleep closing in around him. He can hear Doggett breathing beside him and is comforted by that. He's almost gone when he pictures Scully alone in her apartment. It's almost as if he can feel her pain from miles away, can picture the lost vastness of her eyes. He sits bolt upright in bed.

"What is it?" Doggett asks.

Skinner shakes his head and gets out of bed. He goes to the bathroom, takes a piss and looks at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror. He should be happy right now.He's had amazing sex. He'll probably have more in the near future. But he feels ashamed for his pleasure when Mulder is dead and Scully is alone in her mourning.

In his mind, he sees Scully lying in Mulder's bed, wondering if he'd ever return to her. And he sees her at the compound, her face as she saw Mulder's body lying on the ground so still and cold. Skinner has seen some gruesome and horrible things in his life, but nothing as terrible as the look on Scully's face when she saw Mulder's dead body.

He turns on the shower and steps into the hot water. In the safety of the tiled shower stall, he finally allows himself to cry. It's been a long time in coming. There's so much to cry about, Skinner wonders if he'll ever be able to stop. He's grateful for the sound of the spray of the water against the shower tiles. Doggett won't hear him lose control like this.

When the water starts to turn cold, he stops. Skinner hastily soaps himself off and steps out of the shower. Doggett is standing there in his boxers, holding a towel.

Fuck, Skinner thinks, he'd better not have heard me crying.

"Maybe I should go home," Skinner says, taking the towel and drying off his chest. He doesn't look Doggett in the eye.

"Maybe you should stay." Doggett gives him one of his rare smiles.

Skinner shakes his head. "No, I have to go."

He heads into the bedroom to pick his clothes off the floor and dress. It takes him quite a while to find his glasses, which have somehow made their way under the bed.

At the front door, Doggett says, "It's okay to cry, Skinner. I'd think something was wrong with you if you didn't."

He holds back a bitter laugh. "I don't do the sensitive guy thing."

"Yeah, well, neither do I, but there's a time and a place for everything."

"I'll see you later, Doggett," Skinner says and walks down the sidewalk.

When Skinner walks into his apartment, it smells stale and unloved. His footsteps seem to echo as he walks down the hallway.

That night, Skinner manages not to think about Mulder and Scully any more. While falling asleep, he imagines that he's still in Doggett's bed. The bed is a boat and they're drifting down a lazy river, like Huck and Tom, maybe. He can smell the fishy water, feels the sun on his back. He  
lets the waves rock him to sleep.

END


End file.
